


Drunk With Your Kiss

by biswholocked



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alcohol, Biblical References, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 13:50:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5588338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biswholocked/pseuds/biswholocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It begins with red wine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunk With Your Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a response to the "Bible Porn Challenge", as created by ancientreader and tiltedsyllogism. Thank you both for this wonderful idea!
> 
> Un-betaed, as I wrote it in about 2 hours, so please feel free to point out any mistakes.

_ Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth— _

_ for your love is more delightful than wine.  _

_ Pleasing is the fragrance of your perfumes; _

_ your name is like perfume poured out. _

_ -Song of Solomon 1:1-3 _

 

It begins with red wine, poured into their glasses past the halfway point. They lounge back against the sofa cushions and empty their glasses, refill them, until the bottle is empty. John stares. Sherlock’s lip are stained just a shade darker from the wine. Sherlock watches back with heavy-lidded eyes, a small smile tugging up one corner of his mouth. He wiggles his sock-covered toes, tucked under John’s thigh.

They shift, pliant bodies rearranging themselves until John can press them together, abandon his glass and taste the wine from Sherlock’s lips instead. He tangles his fingers in Sherlock’s soft curls; one of Sherlock’s hands cradles his face, thumb brushing over John’s cheekbone. Their breathing grows unsteady as they move their lips slowly, hanging in suspense. When Sherlock opens his mouth and John slips his tongue over Sherlock’s, one of them makes a soft noise in the back of their throat.

“Yes,” John whispers. Heat, soft pressing lips, breath ghosting over his skin. The taste of wine fades away, and all that’s left is the two of them, heady with desire. John moves his hand from Sherlock’s hair and down to his shirt, slipping buttons from their holes. In return, Sherlock untucks John’s shirt and rucks up the fabric enough to press his fingers into John’s waist.

“Bed,” Sherlock murmurs, and stands, pulling John along by the waistband of his trousers. They move slowly, mouths parting and meeting as they stumble down the hall. John can hear the dull rush of blood in his ears. He presses Sherlock against the doorframe, then licks at Sherlock’s neck. He can feel Sherlock’s pulse thudding against his tongue, and John’s head swims with longing. 

Sherlock cedes control, arching his back and pressing them together from chest to thigh. John moans at the contact, ruts lazily against Sherlock’s leg. Sherlock shifts down the wall a bit to provide more friction, and John’s cock throbs in his pants. He thrusts again, and gasps at the contact.

John leaves a trail of butterfly kisses down Sherlock’s neck and collarbone; he licks Sherlock’s nipples first through his shirt, then helps Sherlock shrug the damn thing off and lavishes the small, peaked nubs with attention. Soft licks, a hint of teeth, and Sherlock grips him by the hair with a low moan. Only when Sherlock is whimpering and lifting his chest up into his mouth does John stop and drag Sherlock into their room. He lets himself fall back onto the bed, hastily tugging off his shirt as Sherlock drops his trousers and pants.

Their eyes meet. Sherlock’s are dark and hungry; John can only imagine what his own must look like when Sherlock unzips John’s trousers for him and slowly pulls off both his trousers and pants, gaze trailing down John’s body as he goes. He licks his lips, just slightly, at the sight of John’s cock, and John finds himself echoing the reaction. Sherlock is hard, too, cock standing proudly out from a swirl of dark hair, bollocks hanging just below. John swallows a moan and reaches out to tug Sherlock down. He acquiesces, and when their bodies meet John’s breath leaves his chest in a gasp.

“John,” Sherlock moans. His voice is raspy, and fills the room like a fragrance, dark and rich, sending shivers down John’s spine. His cock jerks against Sherlock’s and John closes his eyes, overwhelmed. He can smell sweat, musk, the sharp tang of precome. He shifts, and the pressure, the slip of Sherlock’s cock as he moves, all of it is making John drunk with lust, making his bones ache with love and his blood rush downwards. His hands find their way to Sherlock’s hips and urges him forward; Sherlock complies, easily, and John lifts up as Sherlock thrusts down. Sparks flicker at the edge of John’s vision. 

They kiss sloppily as each thrust takes them closer, higher; the taste of Sherlock on his tongue makes John moan and dig his fingers into the dimple at the bottom of Sherlock’s spine as he hangs on. 

“Please, please,” John whimpers into Sherlock’s mouth, eyes closing. The fire in his veins is roaring, his skin is tingling and he is  _ there _ , suspended on the edge. Fingers bury themselves in John’s hair and pull, sharply, as Sherlock thrusts once more, and John is gone, everything going white as he comes and comes, cock pulsing.

Reality trickles back slowly; his chest is heaving, everything over-sensitive. Sherlock is staring down at him, eyes wide and enraptured. Worshiping.

At the first touch of John’s hand around his shaft, Sherlock’s eyelids flutter. “Yes,” he hisses, and John begins to stroke he closes his eyes. John continues, rubbing his thumb over Sherlock’s slit, adding a twist to the end of each pull. His other hand comes down to ghost over Sherlock’s bollocks, to gently stroke the bit of thigh he can reach. Sherlock moans; John peppers kisses over his brow, his nose, his cheeks, avoiding his mouth until Sherlock is shaking and John’s hands are slick enough to sometimes slip away. Once, twice more, and Sherlock tenses. As he comes, cock spilling into John’s hand, John licks into Sherlock’s mouth. He stays there, kissing him softly, until Sherlock pulls away, nuzzling John’s nose with his own as he pants.

“Good?” John asks.

Sherlock hums an agreement low in his throat.

John sighs with satisfaction. His head is fuzzy from the orgasm and the wine, but he fumbles for a tissue from the box on the bedside table and clumsily wipes them clean before they burrow themselves under the blankets. Sherlock curls up against him, and their legs tangle together under the sheets. Sherlock tucks his head under John’s chin, filling his nose with the scent of Sherlock’s shampoo. 

John presses a kiss to the curls, then closes his eyes, already half asleep. “Love you.”

“And I you,” comes the quiet reply.

John falls asleep smiling.

 

_ And the men likewise gave up relations with women and were consumed with passion for one another, men committing shameless acts with men…  _

_ -Romans 1:27 _

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, thank you for reading!


End file.
